10 Conversations
by Kation
Summary: Post-KotCS. A collection of vignettes detailing ten separate conversations between various characters. Chapter 2, The Garden, now up.
1. The Hangover

"Henry Walton Jones, Junior! Get your ass down here, right now!"

Indiana Jones was pulled violently out of peaceful slumber by a very loud, very angry female voice. He groaned at the sharp pain that immediately presented itself somewhere behind his eyes. The voice, he soon deduced, was that of his wife, Marion, and the reason for her consternation, he was sure had a lot to do with his activities the previous night.

As he began to regain consciousness, his memories very slowly began to come back. What he had intended to be one drink and a game of pool with his son after classes on a Friday night soon turned into the unintentional hustling of two very large men and the unfortunate phone call to Charlie Stanforth at 4 AM, begging him to drive them home.

Moaning more than necessary, he began to move and his aching muscles protested. He managed to roll over, wincing when he bumped his tender left eye with his hand. Then, with much effort, he stood shakily.

"Indy! Get down here!"

At Marion's shrill tone his hands went to his head, trying to dampen the sharp pain the loud noise caused. As he took two nauseating steps toward the door, he pledged to his body to henceforth abstain from alcohol. And billiards. And any sort of hand-to-hand combat.

As his head swam and his stomach roiled, Marion hollered again, stopping only upon seeing him exit the bedroom door at the top of the stairs.

His wife stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded over her chest, framing the now-visible swelling of her abdomen which contained their soon-to-be-born second child.

Marion, at 48, had been surprised and apprehensive on discovering her condition. Indy had had initial reservations, but upon seeing the changes in Marion's body in response to her pregnancy, he'd forgotten them all. Even now, as terrible as he felt, he wished fervently that he'd been around for her first pregnancy, to see her body softened and changed by the presence of their son within her.

"Good morning." It was not a greeting; merely a formality. She stood stolidly still, arms crossed, and her expression changed little.

As he descended the stairs gingerly, he first wondered, and then hoped she'd just punch him in the jaw again. Jaw pain got better, eventually. Scorn from Marion took a long time to fade. It always had. It was a big part of the reason he'd left. Both times.

"Good morning, dear," he'd said, as lucidly as possible, as he kissed her on the cheek, slipping his hand around the small of her back to cup her belly. She did not yield to his touch; standing very still and sighing despairingly.

"You smell like liquor, Indy." She turned to look at him, brushing the hair off his face, "and you have a black eye." She sighed again, pulling away from him, walking into the living room and stopping behind the sofa.

He began formulating a response as he followed her, but, thankfully, she spoke first.

"How do you explain this?" She gestured towards the couch, her expression losing none of its edge.

Indy glanced at said sofa, and regretfully noted that the results of Marion's first pregnancy lay on the couch, splayed out like a drunken bum. Upon closer inspection, he found that there was a small puddle of vomit on the rug beneath Mutt, which explained quite succinctly her dismay.

Mentally calling his son a lightweight, he studied Marion's face for the right answer to the question. Sadly, he could only see the hurt in her eyes that only he seemed to be able to produce.

"I'm sorry, Marion," he started, his foggy brain struggling to work out what he wanted to say, "we were just going to play one game of pool, and then things sort of ... got out of hand. It was Mutt's fault."

At the mention of his name, the boy stirred and groaned, but much to his father's dismay did not wake up. Indy glanced back up at Marion, seeing that his remark had not helped his situation any. Marion's brow was, if possible, even more furrowed.

She sighed, exasperated. "No matter what that boy did, you are his father! I trust that when the two of you go out, you'll be the voice of reason. I don't want to have to check my son's pulse the next morning to make sure he hasn't choked on his own vomit!"

At this, Indiana bowed his head guiltily, only raising it when Marion hooked her finger under his chin and lifted his face up. "What is up with you lately? You know you're not as young as you used to be."

Indy sighed heavily, trying to avoid Marion's steely guilt-inducing gaze. He stepped over to his wife, enveloping her in his embrace and waiting until she responded and laid her head on his chest before he spoke. "I know, and I'm sorry, Marion, but ever since I found out about this baby I've been going nuts. I'm almost 60, and I'm just starting to accept the fact that I'm a father to a nearly adult son, and now I've got to do it all over again?"

"So you're saying you don't want to have a baby?" Marion's blue eyes were nearly fearful as she gazed up at him from his embrace.

"No. No way. That's not what I mean." At this, his hand went to her abdomen, pressing the firm rounding and feeling the tiny flutters of life within, "I just don't think you realize how this has affected me. I suppose I feel like I should still be able to beat a 20-year-old in a drinking contest and take a few punches if I'm going to be rocking a baby in four months."

Marion allowed a small laugh, and Indy breathed a small sigh of relief. "Three months," she corrected him, eliciting a wince.

"Don't remind me." The two lovers locked eyes, Indiana relieved by the small smile that graced his wife's lips. He leaned down and kissed her, smiling at the movement he felt against his hand as he did so. He imagined that the baby was protesting their embrace, much like its older brother.

Breaking apart, he pulled Marion to him as tightly as he could, remembering their years together and how merely seven months before, he'd thought he'd never see her again. Now they were married and three months away from being the parents of two children.

"Could you two knock it off? I feel sick enough already." The gravelly, tired voice of their son startled the two out of their reverie. Both glanced down distastefully at the young man, a blue-black bruise to rival his father's blooming on his right cheekbone. Marion pulled away from her husband, sighing in a put-upon fashion.

"Oh, god, I hope this one's a girl." Marion's hand went to her belly, as if to shield her unborn child from the iniquity of its father and brother. With that, she sauntered off, leaving her two men to eye each other malevolently.

"You think that'll make a difference, Marion? You sure used to knock 'em back when you were younger!" At his father's remark, Mutt's eyes widened, giving his father a look of disbelief. Indy nodded at his son discreetly and the two shared a grin at Marion's expense.

The woman in question stepped back into view, not at all amused by the remark. "You two better clean up that puke, because after that there's a whole bunch of jobs I've got for you!" Both men winced at her holler, the smirks wiped off their faces.


	2. The Garden

It was one of those days that spring seemed to have forgotten. Despite the fact that it was not yet April, the sun shone brightly into the New England back yard, and the two men in it, clearing out a vegetable garden for planting, were drenched in sweat despite the fact that it was not yet noon.

The older man was casting annoyed glances at the younger, whose working pace was much slower than his own and who emitted occasional pained groans whenever he was required to apply any amount of effort.

"You know, son, if you work any slower, you'll actually be moving in reverse."

Mutt Jones sneered at his father, taking this opportunity to wipe his brow. He winced in pain when he touched his right eye, as the entire area around it was the colour of ripe blueberries.

Indiana Jones sported an identical shiner, albeit on the opposite eye, but still rolled his eyes at his son's discomfort.

"You should get used to it, kid. It only gets worse as you get older."

The boy scoffed, "Since I met you, I'm getting a lot more used to it." He dabbed the area around his eye gingerly, and then stood up, groaning incessantly, and sat down on the edge of the garden. He then glanced at his father curiously. "How many times have you gotten punched in the face?"

Indy smiled and sighed, abandoning his work to sit down near his son, placing his nearby fedora on his head. "Too many to count. It's not the eye that's the worst, though. You ever been punched in the jaw?"

The boy shook his head slowly.

"If you're not expecting it, you'll find it difficult to eat for a few days."

"Funny, I'd think _you_'d be expecting it every time," Mutt said with a smirk.

"Very funny," he said with a sarcastic smile. "Well, when you're having a normal conversation with a brunette in a bar, they don't usually suddenly give you a knuckle sandwich."

"It depends on the brunette," Mutt relayed, playing with the hem of his jeans.

Indy scoffed. "Don't I know it. It took me a long time to trust your mother after that."

The boy quickly then turned to his father with an expression so abjectly surprised Indy found it hard not to laugh.

"Wait. Mom? My mom? She punched you in the jaw."

"Please, that was practically how she said hello back then."

Mutt turned to his father, staring at him hard in an attempt to ascertain his truthfulness.

"Bullshit."

"I'm not lying. And watch your language."

As Mutt digested this information silently, a sly smile began to creep over his face. "Why'd she hit you?"

Indy winced. "It's not important."

"What year was it?"

"Didn't you hear me, kid? I said it's not important."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence before the young man spoke again. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Indiana saw that his son was clearly lying, a trait he'd no doubt gotten from his mother, but nonetheless felt he should tell his son about those years. It was rare when the boy showed any interest in anything outside of schoolwork, girls, or motorbikes. It was even rarer that he be interested in his own parents. The older man sighed.

"It was 1936. I was on the trail of the headpiece to the Staff of Ra, which I knew was in the possession of one Abner Ravenwood—your grandfather." Indy looked over at Mutt, nodded quickly. "So I tracked Abner down to this little village in Nepal, where, I don't know, he'd been doing a dig or something. It was a long time ago. I knew that your mother would be with him, because he'd been sick for years and she was the only one left to take care of him. Turns out he'd passed away; months ago, even, and Marion had been left on her own—"

"How old was she?" Indy was surprised at his son's inquisitiveness, but kept on.

"Twenty-four, I think, maybe 25. Not much older than you. Turns out Abner'd left her with pretty much nothing. Not even enough to get back home. So she had to improvise. She took over the local tavern when the owner died, and ran it, all by herself. That's when I met up with her."

"But this wasn't the first time you two met, was it? 'Cause Mom said something about Abner being your teacher or something."

Indy sighed. This kid was sharp. "No, no it wasn't. I first met your mother when she was 16, about ten years earlier. Abner was my professor at the University of Chicago and a damn good one at that. He taught me almost everything about archaeology I needed to know."

Mutt was silent for a few seconds before he spoke. "And how old were you at this time?"

"Twenty-seven," Indy replied reluctantly.

"Ah," said Mutt, and with regret Indy saw his son saw right through him. "So I'm guessing you two—" he looked uncomfortable saying this, "fell in love, or whatever, and then Abner finds out, tells you to take a hike and then..." The boy turned to look at his father, his interest displayed candidly on his face.

Indy was sure _his _face, and his lack of a response told the kid he'd hit the nail on the head. "Not bad. I'm suddenly regretting telling you any of this."

Mutt shrugged innocently, brushing back the strands of hair that had fallen down as he was working.

Indiana Jones sighed heavily, pushing back the anger at those past events and at his son's insistence on knowing about them, and reluctantly continued his story. "Then, I left. Your mother was mad at me for not standing up to her father, her father was mad at me for...ruining his daughter," Mutt blushed and looked the other way at this, "and, truthfully I was sick of it all."

Mutt scoffed at this, but Indy ignored him.

"Not of your mother, just of...school; of always being under someone's wing. So I took off. Abner and Marion took off soon after that, so, even if I'd wanted to go back, I couldn't. I buried myself in my work, I got a job teaching, and before I knew it, ten years had passed." He sighed tiredly at these old memories, and at how hollow these words sounded now.

"Then these two suits track me down, hire me out to get the Ra headpiece and before I knew it, I was in Nepal, watching her out-drink a 200-pound Sherpa in her own bar."

At this, Mutt perked up, the discontent he clearly felt for his parents' less-than-romantic past temporarily forgotten. "You're kidding." The boy's eyes twinkled mischievously. "So you were serious this morning?"

Indy laughed at the memory. "Oh, yeah. And from what I saw, it wasn't a rare occurrence."

Mutt laughed at this, shaking his head with disbelief.

"Yeah, I think that was the moment I knew she was the one." Indy noticed his son's mild surprise at this. "But that was quickly wiped out of my mind about five minutes later, when she introduced my face to her fist."

The two men sat in silence as the older one attempted to stem the flow of memories this revelation had let loose. He saw Marion's face the first time he'd seen it that day. He remembered that she had lost the softness of her youth, but in its place she'd gained the experience and confidence that only adulthood brought. And as he'd watched from outside in the cold, blustery Nepal night, he found himself involuntarily falling for her again.

Marion had always been stubborn, and self-assured, but it was always in the way that a child was. She'd known nothing of real life, tucked away in Abner's big old house, doted on by the old man from birth and never allowed to go out. Now as he watched her down her umpteenth shot of hard liquor that night, he was rapt. She knew she had everyone in that bar watching her, and she was going to milk it for all it was worth. It was beautiful, and enchanting, and so was she.

Marion Ravenwood had grown up, and he was about to walk right back into her life.

"So what happened after that?" Indiana was pulled from his reverie by his son's question. Mutt was again trying to hide his interest, leaning back on his hands as he basked in the sunlight.

So he told him the story of the Ark and the Nazis; of Sallah and the monkey and the miserable hours he'd spent mourning Marion. He left out the night on the ship; it was for the best, he was sure, but tried to explain the events following the opening of the Ark itself.

At the end of the story, the boy was sitting cross-legged, his feigned nonchalance forgotten at the revelation of this incredible tale.

"Whoa."

"Whoa, indeed."

"So, why did you leave again? I just wanna know, really."

Indy sighed at his son's insistence, but reluctantly put some thought into his answer. "Your mother was...the most magnificent woman I ever knew. I'm serious. She was unlike anyone I'd ever known, and I guess I began to question her future with a bum like me. I didn't want—I didn't want her to have to wait for me to come home. I didn't want her to have to be alone, like my mother was. I guess I thought she deserved better. Better than some globe-trotting fool who hadn't stayed in one country for more than a couple months in, hell, years. So I left. I thought I was doing her a favour."

"If you knew she was—"

"In a heartbeat. You've got to believe that, son," Indiana turned to look at his son, who was staring at something apparently very interesting on the ground next to him. "If I'd known about you, I swear I would have tried, at least, to be the best father I could be." At this, Mutt looked up, the hint of a smile touching the edges of his mouth.

"You swear?"

"I swear. And I'm not going anywhere, you know. You and your little brother or sister won't be able to get rid of me."

Mutt allowed himself to smile at this, his cheeks reddening as his father tousled his hair. "Hey, watch it!" The boy straightened his mane again, and then the two sat in silence once again. "It's gonna be weird, you know? Being in a family, being a brother?" He looked at his father, who nodded appreciably. "It's never been anyone but Mom and me. And Ox. I never thought there would be anyone else."

The father clapped his hand on his son's shoulder. "You'll be fine. As long as you keep the kid away from that damn bike of yours." Mutt smiled.

Indy sighed deeply. "And you think you're nervous, what about me? I've never even held a baby before. And I'm old enough to be its grandfather."

Just then, the two could hear the distant hum of a car's engine coming closer, before stopping completely. The sound of a car door opening was soon heard. The two men turned to look at each other apprehensively.

"Your mother's back." Indy quickly stood, removing his hat and tossing it onto the ground beside him. "If she sees us like this, she'll give us two more black eyes. Come on." He reached out his hand to help his son up and Mutt grabbed it. The two men resumed their jobs; the father clearing the withered tomato plants and the son doing the same to the cucumbers.

Soon footfalls could be heard coming around the house, and Indy glanced up surreptitiously to see his wife standing nearby, wearing a very flattering flowered sundress, her hands clasped under the prominent rounding of her midsection. A smile like he hadn't seen in some time graced her beautiful face, which had become a little rounder in the last few months, and Indy could swear she'd never looked younger.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Marion finally said, startling Mutt, who was caught up in his work. "Father and son working side-by-side. In peace."

Indiana smiled, brushing off his jeans as he walked over to his wife. "Oh, well, you just missed the fistfight," he stated sardonically as he took her in his arms. "You look wonderful today, Marion. The same as the day I first met you."

Marion smiled at this, "if you're trying to bribe me into letting you out of more work, Jones, forget it."

But, still, he could tell the compliment had given her self-confidence, waning in recent months as her waistline disappeared, a big boost. He kissed her on the lips, trying very hard to ignore the gagging noises coming from behind them.

"Could you two knock it off, for like, ten minutes?"

The lovers reluctantly released each other, turning to look at their irritated son. "Would you prefer it if we fought all the time?"

"At least fighting doesn't make me want to throw up, again." He checked his watch, pulling an errant cucumber leaf from the band, and looked back up anxiously. "How much longer do we have to do this, Mom, for real?"

Marion glanced at the garden, which was nearly clear except for the large cucumber plant and a few withered pumpkin vines. "You're nearly done! What are you complaining for?"

Mutt groaned, shuffling slowly back into the garden to complete this seemingly arduous task.

Marion turned to her husband. "You too, Romeo."

"How'd your appointment go?" He was stalling and she knew it, but she also knew he was concerned.

"Fine. Actually, great. He said he's seen 25-year-olds have more trouble than me. I think he was trying to make me feel better."

"Come on, Marion. He wasn't. I meant it when I said you've never looked better. Having babies agrees with you." She smiled, and a look of the deepest panic came onto his face, "but don't think that means we should try this again," he gestured to her abdomen. "The kid we already have is driving me nuts."

"Yeah, you're no angel, either," hollered said kid irritably from his place in the garden. Both parents rolled their eyes.

"Don't worry, Jones, two of your children is enough for anyone." As Indiana chuckled, her expression turned amused. "Indiana Jones rocking a newborn. The labour will be worth it, just for that. Now get back to work," she nudged him forward and he reluctantly went, ambling back towards the garden so similarly to their son that it made her smile.

"Oh, and I've just received word that Harold Oxley's back in town," she told them, expecting their surprised reactions, "so if you two hurry up, maybe we can go pay him a visit."


End file.
